


Grave Digger

by mspeachykeen2012



Series: Graveyard Series [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Based on a documentary, Cemetery Community, Graveyard Slum, Love Story, M/M, Romance, Time Skips, alternative universe, hard stuff, wontaek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mspeachykeen2012/pseuds/mspeachykeen2012
Summary: Is it called love if it happens among graves?aka. Taekwoon lives in a cemetery slum and Wonshik seems to keep popping up throughout the years.
Relationships: Jung Taekwoon | Leo/Kim Wonshik | Ravi
Series: Graveyard Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910053
Kudos: 10





	1. Age 7

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot (split into 4 parts) that kinda just came... out, if you will. I saw a documentary on a cemetery community years ago and naturally, my mind picked it up and just kinda ran. This is the result.
> 
> As some level setting: I fully understand the magnitude of the subject matter and I in no way shape or form am intending to romanticize the situation. I have, however, worked hard to respect what I know of it as well as educate myself further and I hope that is clear in the story as this is a work of fiction and therefore, I have taken liberties.
> 
> Warnings: this takes place in a hard situation where people generally struggle and are homeless. Widespread warning: please do not read if anything about or around dead people triggers you. Just want to make sure you know what you're getting into.
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy this :)
> 
> -Raven

Passing the wiry brush along the painted concrete face, days and months of grime stubborn to its surface, seven year old Taekwoon blinked at the chatter he heard just beyond him.

"They just got here—come _on_."

The voice was of a neighborhood girl, not much older than Taekwoon and she was talking to the other grave washer, her brother. He looked at Taekwoon who shrugged his shoulders. Dropping the worn brush with a plop into the even older bucket that was lined with green algae and brown muck, the young children started towards the entrance of the neighborhood.

Though that word was a bit of a misnomer.

Feet crunching over bits of gravel, corners of the cement graves that had chipped off during their years in the cemetery, now being pounded into the ground by little feet that ran. Taekwoon realized they were always running for something—except when he was cleaning the graves. He stood still at each row, looking up at each column of encasings. There, he stared at the dead.

Sandals clapped as they weaved in and out of the graveyard, arriving at the row of shacks that lined the opposite sides. There was a wind that tunneled and the roofs, made of debris and metal scraps, mimicked their shoes. A couple adults hollered at them, though it was easily ignored.

Skidding to a stop, Taekwoon dropped his jaw to gulp in air, licking his dry lips as he watched the crowd of children in front of them.

"He's cute—what's your name?"

"Where did you come from?"

"He will be my husband one day, won't you?"

The girls were teasing the newcomer and Taekwoon could just imagine the look on the poor soul's face. But new people were rare—their population usually increased by birth, the only settlers being the first families. Everyone else was born there.

The cemetery became an extension of a nearby slum back in the 1980s, when the farm land had dried up and the soil became toxic. Moving in towards the city provided some semblance of employment, despite its uncertainty, and the days of hunger seemed doable compared to the prospect of not having _any_ crop to sustain life.

Taekwoon was born in the cemetery.

His father had been a farmer, his mother a school teacher.

"No, you'll be my husband won't you?" a girl, with a beautiful sing-song voice whined, pulling the stranger into her chest. Taekwoon was closer now and the group was opening. His young eyes watched the boy with short hair being pulled from side to side, everyone smiling as they touched him. He was the first in so long, their boredom sought out his first words as if he was their savior.

It would only last a day or two, then everyone would get restless again.

At least, until something else exciting happened.

"What is your name, boy?" someone asked.

The newcomer smiled, a lopsided smile that changed his face and the girls all cooed, reaching for his cheeks.

"Wonshik," he pushed out, trying to replace the hands pulling at his face. "Stop touching me," he admonished, but he wasn't upset and neither were the girls. They were just all so _excited_.

"Wonshik, where do you live now? What does your mama look like?"

"Stay with my family!"

"Do you like music?"

Immediately, the boys—there were more in this group than any other—started singing, someone providing a beat and it was as if all the hands fell away. Now they were moving in beat, trying to impress this stranger. His eyes were flying around him.

Taekwoon didn't know how he felt but he liked the newness of his face.

Suddenly a large barge sounded out beside them, signaling the final shipment of the day. Looking over his shoulder, not at the sea because the stacks of graves were far too tall, Taekwoon looked at the entrance to said graveyard, knowing he had at least 10 more to clean if he wanted to get the whole 1000 won. If not, they wouldn't pay him at all.

And with the sun going down, he didn't have much time.

Stealing away, he traveled down those same aisles, dirt mixed with garbage and bones beneath his shoes. He stopped running immediately as he thought about it—his mother would kill him if he wore down another pair of sandals so quickly.

Finding his bucket effortlessly, his grimy hands dunked the brush before bringing it up and leaning into the scrubbing motion.

-

"What are you doing?"

Taekwoon peeked over his bare shoulder, though his hands did not stop in their cleaning. It was hot and he was shirtless, otherwise he was going to die of a heat stroke. His mother had worried that morning when he left, warning him of the sun. Not that it would touch him directly within the depths of the graveyard.

The stacks of graves, cement rectangles on top of another, reached about 11 or 12 graves tall. The sun never shone on the ones at the bottom. They were from a different station in life.

And the heat was different. It came from the sweltering air of the passages, in the shadows where the stench mixed with the humidity and she warned of how easily he became dehydrated.

He couldn't wait until he was 13 and he could tell his mother to stop worrying, once and for all.

Wonshik looked down at the end of the aisle, then up towards the top.

"How many graves are here, do you think?"

"1,432."

Wonshik's mouth curved. "You sound like a girl."

Taekwoon turned back to the grave in front of him, using his forearm to wipe the lines of perspiration from his forehead.

"What are you doing?"

Putting an extra _mmph_ into his stroke, Taekwoon gritted it out: "Washing the graves." 

"Why?"

Black eyes found the newcomer. "Do you not respect the dead?"

"I do."

Eyebrows raised in response and Taekwoon continued working, ignoring the fact that Wonshik watched him with his beady little eyes for another hour or so.

"Do you like doing that?"

"Why don't you go play with the other kids?"

Wonshik had the audacity to be offended. "Don't tell me what to do."

Taekwoon looked back. "Then be quiet… do you want to help me?"

To his surprise, he saw a hand reach down into his bucket, fingers searching for something before they lifted with another brush in hand. Going for the same grave front, Wonshik began scrubbing.

-

Wonshik and his family were gone the next day and everyone was a twitter with gossip. People didn't normally leave once they showed up at the cemetery.


	2. Age 13

The next time Taekwoon saw Wonshik was in the morning, in the middle of fall during his 13th year. It was cold, he remembered, but not too cold, not this far south so while he had a long sleeve shirt on, a logo from an American country imprinted onto the front of it, the trembling wasn't from the weather.

Instead, he watched as all the girls hounded Wonshik again—this time, his broader shoulders were bunched and his elongated stature was starting to show slightly.

Taekwoon hadn't run like last time so everyone had already asked their questions, asking where the other had gone, why he had left.

"Why did you come back?" Taekwoon asked softly, all eyes focusing on him as Wonshik's pair narrowed in effort.

"Grave washer?"

Taekwoon had grown too, having just come out the other side of a growth spurt. He looked over the other 13 years olds and found himself hanging with the 15 year olds now. They smoked handmade cigarettes and talked about drinking. Taekwoon had yet to participate, his mother still nagging in the back of his head.

"Where did you go? My mama said it was because your papa got in trouble," Sunmi, with her dirty hair but bright red cheeks, asked, brow furrowing. She looked back at Taekwoon, nodding ever so slightly. The older boy gave her a gracious smile in return.

"We were just travelling through. We ended up in the islands, where the land is fertile."

There was a collective gasp—an intake of breath before there were simultaneous murmurings, noise escalating as they all considered the fact that there was a _possibility_ of leaving.

Taekwoon's eyes hardened.

But before he could reprimand Wonshik for getting anyone's hopes up, the younger boy continued.

"But there was no work. There is never any work," he mumbled, shouldering a backpack that Taekwoon just now noticed he was holding.

The crowd seemed to settle down, back into complacency they went and Taekwoon felt his shoulders lower. The day was shorter now and they couldn't spend it asking Wonshik questions about where he had been, where he was going. Not the older kids at least—the smaller children could still line around him, looking at his clothes, pawing at his backpack. Taekwoon had to find his father.

And he would, in front of a grave that had just been excavated.

He watched with patient, keen eyes. He would have to start doing it himself in the next year.

Skin prickling, Taekwoon immediately looked over his shoulder, finding Wonshik standing at the edge of the aisle. He beckoned him closer with a flick of his wrist.

Eyes dropping to his father who was completely immersed now, Taekwoon stole away. Landing in front of the boy, he noticed his hair was longer this time, jaggedly cut as if he had tried to do it himself.

"It's the style," he answered, Taekwoon's eyes growing. Wonshik's laugh was loud and pleasant. "I could tell you were staring—and you were frowning. I get that a lot."

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you still washing graves? Can I get in on it?"

Taekwoon folded his arms as a gust wormed through the aisles, disturbing his sweat heavy hair. He easily flung it out of his eyes with a subtle move of his neck.

"I am going to be a grave digger."

Black eyebrows raised slowly. "You're… going to touch…"

Taekwoon's head cocked.

"Doesn't that…"

"What?"

"You're touching the dead. Isn't that bad luck?"

The black lines of Taekwoon's eyes thinned in thought. "As long as I don't disrespect them."

Wonshik stared at him for a long time and Taekwoon couldn't find it in himself to look away. There was something very appealing inside Wonshik, something that glowed orange in the dark grey of the graveyard. It had arms and it reached for Taekwoon.

"Son!"

Both looked over to his father, nearly covered in black and grey dust, almost as if he was a spirit himself. Immediately, Taekwoon said a prayer for him, the body he had just dug, the body that would soon take its place and then finally, for the cemetery as a whole.

"Coming," he said considerately. Then turning back to Wonshik, "just go ask someone. They can show you to the office who pays."

-

"Hey!"

Taekwoon startled and immediately reached out for the boat beside him, starting to ease behind it. It was just a small raft but there were less people by these smaller docks. The city staff had already warned them about being too close to the fishermen, that they didn't ask to see naked slumrats in their waters when they were just trying to do an honest day's work.

Taekwoon listened, despite the regular nonchalance from the rest of the neighborhood.

Wonshik called out to him again and Taekwoon covered his eyes from the sun, recognizing the smile. He smiled a lot, sometimes dopey—a lot of times dopey. He laughed with the other kids, he talked and joked, as if this was a game he was playing. Like one of the arcade games they had, everyone crowded around the old vintage graphics. Wonshik acted like this wasn't real life.

He started stripping, his ribs pushing against his skin as he lifted his shirt away.

With his clothes in an unceremonious pile by his feet, the younger boy ventured into the water, hissing at its chill. But it was initial, compared to the air, the water temperature this time of year was pretty temperate. Taekwoon loved being in the water.

Wonshik dunked down before swimming over to Taekwoon, sidling up to him, wet hands finding the side of the raft too. The sea water beaded on his eyelashes and the older boy watched, unashamed, for a second longer.

"How old are you?" he asked gently, feet finding the sea floor as he swayed with the water.

"12. You?"

"13."

Wonshik looked out over the water, scratching at his scalp before running his hands through his hair.

"So you're going to dig graves?"

Taekwoon hummed, fingers tightening around the lip of the raft. He averted his eyes when Wonshik found him again.

"How much do they pay?"

There was disappointment resounding in the air—not that Taekwoon _wanted_ anything from Wonshik. He just knew he didn't want to hear _that._

The graves were on seven year leases. The part of the cemetery that the neighborhood was set in was the lower class citizens, the main reason why they were allowed to stay for the most part. When a lease was up, out came the bones and in went new ones. A lot of the poor died. So there was a lot of grave digging. A lot.

Taekwoon's father made a living excavating the expired graves to make room for the new ones. All residents had to pay for was water and utility and because his father was doing a service for the city, he didn't even have to pay for that. His money went towards food. Though, on the meager earnings, that too wasn't a guarantee.

As was life in the cemetery.

"Do they pay well?"

"You're so interested, go ask the office."

Wonshik's brow tightened and the wrinkle—an adorable one—screwed up his face. "Are you mad?"

Shaking his head, Taekwoon started wading in towards the shore. "Why would I be?"

A hand reached out and curled around his triceps, easily pulling him back towards the raft. Wonshik's breath was on his shoulder. The other made him face around. Earnest eyes that reflected the yellow sun caught him.

"I won't steal your job. I just need something until we leave."

That got Taekwoon's attention, quick.

"What?"

"My dad might've found some work up North."

Taekwoon stayed silent. Then nodded. "Don't bother then, you won't make enough for it to be worth it." He submerged into the water one last time, shaking his hair and starting towards the garbage lined shore. Scooping up his neat pile of clothes, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Let me know before you leave this time, ok?"

Pulling over his shirt, twisting his wrist through the sleeves, Taekwoon saw the other boy nod, a ghost of a look on his face before he turned towards the sun again.


	3. Age 17

Taekwoon coughed, holding the back of his hand to his nose as he crawled out of the confined space. The bag of bones lay next to him as he emerged, diaphragm seizing as he tried to keep the instinct to vomit at bay.

Two years of grave digging and it hadn't gotten easier.

Breathing through his mouth, Taekwoon suddenly looked to his left. He could hear the ruckus, sounded like his group of friends. Normally, he wouldn't leave a site until he finished but he needed a break. He was going to be sick if he stayed—that grave hadn't quite decomposed all the way yet.

Immediately, Taekwoon thought of a poison that would slow the rate of decomp and if the family knew that their relative had been murdered.

His story—something he tried not to do with the dead—dissolved as he finally saw what all the noise was about.

Wonshik was back.

Although this time, he didn't look like 12 year old Wonshik with his horrible haircut and his still chubby cheeks.

This one had grown handsome and his voice was deeper, bellowing as his laugh echoed. He remembered some of them, though the little children were new. He patted their heads and he reached in his old backpack, bringing out something—candy, perhaps.

The older kids, now adolescents, were fewer in numbers. Most were gone, some had died, others had left and never returned. The girls stayed, but most were pregnant or on their way to being so. Taekwoon was just a grave digger.

Running a dusty hand through his long hair, he waited for Wonshik to notice him. He wouldn't make a big deal of it, but he remembered their last moments before the younger boy had left last time.

Taekwoon remembered Wonshik asking him if he'd ever kissed anyone.

Then he remembered Wonshik leaving.

"Grave digger," he grinned with pink lips and it was then that Taekwoon noticed the scar on his left eye that made it droop slightly.

His hair was short, cut in a fashion that was easy to maintain and didn't require moving it out of one's face.

His body was still skinny and his collarbones protruded much too far for Taekwoon's liking. But he had grown tall and handsome and…

Weathered.

Gone was the hopeful twinkle in the six year old's eyes, the optimistic spark in the 12 year old's eyes. Now at 16, Wonshik had been through enough life to understand that it was not on his side.

Taekwoon stepped forward, aware that he smelled like putrid insects and old souls, waiting for Wonshik to say something else.

But he never did, just cast him a ghoulish smile, like he knew what Taekwoon had been thinking about him and he _liked_ it.

So Taekwoon slinked back into the graves, finishing up the last grave of the day—he was making it so, fuck what the city official thought—and went home for dinner. His sisters all raved about Wonshik and how good looking he had become, how he had actually fawned over Sunmi this time. It was just a matter of time before they hooked up, they prattled on.

Taekwoon's mother stayed silent, simply finishing and then tending to the wash. She had him strip completely, the smell of burnt bones already permeating the small room. His father laughed at that, reaching out to pull on Taekwoon's ear affectionately.

"After 20 years, you'd think she'd be used to it."

His mother's hands stopped in their dragging, giving his father a stern look. Her smile had disappeared years ago.

-

"The cemetery is getting crowded, huh?"

Wonshik's voice was smooth, like room temperature butter and it stopped Taekwoon's steps. A couple of children screeched, despite it being late—really late. But the karaoke machine was going and the night was the perfect degrees with the perfect breeze.

At night, the cemetery fell away and all that remained were its inhabitants. As any neighborhood in the city, the one encompassed within the graveyards was lively. Even here—especially here, community was everything.

Raising his eyes, Taekwoon acknowledged that Wonshik said something but continued walking. He wanted to listen to Sunmi sing—he was sure Wonshik did too.

Lips twisting at his apparent jealousy, he listened to the other boy's steps. Although he didn't feel like a boy anymore, neither did Taekwoon. He had already considered himself a man and he figured they both had seen enough that no one would necessarily disagree.

"I can smell the change. Coming back always hits me in the nose first, and I can smell how big it's gotten," Wonshik spoke as they walked side by side. He looked over when Taekwoon didn't respond. "You seem distracted."

"By you?" was the indignant reply.

Wonshik shielded his barking laughter with a hand, shoulder bumping into Taekwoon's wide pair on accident. He immediately grabbed a hold of him to steady their angle.

"Of course not," Wonshik drawled. "I meant… I don't know, you don't seem so… nice anymore."

Taekwoon tried to manage his face, he did. But it was a miracle Wonshik had ever thought he was nice in the first place. He had quite the scowl and he had experienced too much in too little time to ever think he could be _pleasant_. Cordial, yes. Respectful, yes. Nice…

"I'm tired."

The other boy stepped closer. Their hands met before their bodies did and it was in the back of his mind that Taekwoon registered that he was being pressed up against a column of graves, desecrating their sanctity by wishing Wonshik would kiss him this time.

Like how he had kissed him last time.

Gripping Wonshik's hair between his dirty fingers, nails darkened by soot and grime and smut raked down his scalp and curled around his neck. Their breaths wisped across their cheeks and it was then that Taekwoon recognized the scent of tobacco, sure that if he pressed his mouth against Wonshik's, he'd taste its earthiness.

A dog chasing a rat broke them apart, its puppies trying to keep up as the yapping echoed between the graves. Taekwoon ran those same fingers through his own hair as Wonshik smirked.

-

"So how long are you staying now?"

Wonshik was smoking a cigarette and he regarded Sunmi with a bit of a teasing eye. It made Taekwoon like him even more.

They were all sitting around, drinking and singing and the older kids were fucking around with each other. The sun was steadily rising and two by two, they were all falling out of their seats to meander home. Another day would come with its bright light and its grey graves.

"Dunno. My mother likes it here over the other places we've been."

Taekwoon wanted to make a face but instead just watched his best friend flirt with what would be the closest thing he'd ever get to a boyfriend.

"It's hard in here," Sunmi remarked.

Wonshik's eyes glazed for a second. "It's harder out there."

Taekwoon had been caught off guard by the comment as well as the look. His eyes followed the cigarette lifting to Wonshik's chapped lips, the roaring glow of the orange embers dangerously close to his pinched fingers.

Standing, Taekwoon extended his hand, waiting for Wonshik to reach for him. It didn't take long though there was a suspiciously lengthy pause before he snuffed out the burning cigarette and took his hand.

In places like this, there was little pleasure to be had. There was no reward for a hard day's work. There was only slight happiness in seeing your children grow up. Nothing good ever came out of the cemeteries—nothing.

So what little enjoyment they could have, they did.

As they climbed up on to the tops of the city official office building, watching as the sun greeted their side of the Earth, Wonshik easily settled behind Taekwoon. They stood over the slum houses and the graveyard and the sea. They watched the day erase all that was good about a place like this, Wonshik's arms wound around Taekwoon's stomach. Taekwoon held his hands, leaning back into the younger boy's body.

"What do you think about when you're away?"

Wonshik laughed, arms tightening against Taekwoon's ribs and his hands slipped into his pants. The older boy took a deep breath through his nose.

"You want me to say you?"

With a curved mouth, Taekwoon shook his head. "I don't want you to lie to me."

It was a joke between them that hadn't ever really been said but it was amusing enough that they'd chuckle about it quietly.

Wonshik's hands were resting against his cock, just sitting there as if the warmth was mesmerizing. He wasn't pulling, he wasn't pressing. Just sitting there with Taekwoon's warm skin against the lines of his palm.

It was oddly reassuring.

Wonshik could have fucked him that morning, Taekwoon would have let him. Because he had not liked the look in the younger boy's eyes when he had described the outside world. He wanted to fix that, he wanted to make sure that for at least the next 20 minutes, Wonshik forgot everything but his own name.

The other ground his chin into Taekwoon's shoulder, nuzzling at his earlobe with the tip of his nose.

"Whenever I walk through the gates and I am hit with that stench," Wonshik murmured against him, arms bringing him incredibly close, hands suddenly gripping his cock. "I think of your smell. And I can't wait to see you.

"Out there, I don't think of anything except walking through those gates."

-

A week later, after crawling into Taekwoon's home in the middle of the night and peeling the covers back, Wonshik shook him slightly, the other blinking awake.

"I'll be back—just gotta get something, ok?"

Nodding dreamily, Taekwoon had laid his head back down. Wonshik kissed his forehead before slipping out again.

He did not return.


	4. Age 23

Wonshik walked through the cemetery gates, gravel crunching beneath his Wingtip dress shoes. The stench was the same—of rotting corpses and dog feces and saltwater humidity. But there was an aspect missing—the human aspect.

There was no noise other than a stray mutt barking. No children clamoring over his arrival, no sounds of a hammer against concrete grave fronts. No women complaining about the water or the food or the neighborhood hooligans.

There was no life within the cemetery anymore.

Wonshik swallowed harshly, eyes searching for _anyone_.

Walking calmly to the city official office, he knocked lightly on the door frame. A man quickly jolted awake, widening his eyes and then taking in the appearance, straightened firmly.

"Are you from the council? Look, we've been trying to catch all these damned dogs but they're leftover when those fucking slumrats were here and—wait, what are you here for?"

Dark eyes blinked carefully. "Just trying to find my family."

There was a mass eviction. The country had redeveloped lands in the farming areas right outside of—but far enough away from—the major cities. They were given a new lease on life, or a death sentence depending on how you looked at it.

Those who left, left with the uncertainty of the soil being rich enough to produce crop. Those who didn't were jailed for contempt and violating city ordinance. Once released, they were not allowed to re-enter the city.

They had done this in every major urban area and if they were to go to another outfit set in another cemetery, it was eventually vacated as well. The motto was: there is no place to run and no place to hide.

The city official laughed when he said it, probably forgetting that, despite Wonshik's dress shirt and nice pants, he had said he was looking for family.

"Where did the people here get sent to?"

Waving a nonchalant hand, the official shrugged his rounded shoulders, rolling his eyes. "Who fucking cares? Here there, everywhere? I mean, they were supposed to go to the farms but there's nothing out there. The government knew what they were doing."

Blinking, again very carefully, Wonshik breathed through his nose. Taekwoon's face appeared and his mind warred with itself to somehow produce his smell. Wonshik needed to smell him in this place.

Hands curling, Wonshik returned to the present.

"Where are these lands?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "You some type of justice lawyer?"

"I told you. I am just looking for my family."

-

Opening the door to his apartment, Wonshik grabbed the keys and yanked them out of the keyhole. He only had one set and it had a tendency to get stuck. The noise from below and the stomping from above created the background music as he dropped his backpack by the door, slipping out of his shoes.

He walked over to the kitchen, heating up some water in a mug before reaching down to take off his socks.

Once in front of his dresser, he changed out of his work clothes. Rifling through his drawers, he heard the beep of the microwave.

Sitting down with a bowl of instant ramen, Wonshik stared at his incredibly small apartment, to his bed in the left corner, his small television in the right corner, his kitchen counter with microwave and small travel refrigerator in another and finally his chair in the last. He sat and watched the windowless wall.

Taekwoon was out there somewhere.

Wonshik had promised to come back. And over the last six years, he had every intention to. But then something would happen or he'd get stuck somewhere else and he knew Taekwoon wasn't _going_ anywhere so he'd let the years pass. They had always done so before.

But now, there was nobody left in the cemetery and even more than feeling like something from his past was just magically erased, he felt the dread sinking its jagged teeth into his jugular. Taekwoon could be anywhere by now.

Was he scared? Was he with his sisters? His father had been a farmer, surely he could resurrect something out there.

Wonshik looked into his lukewarm bowl, untouched ramen staring back at him. Was Taekwoon still alive?

A cold sweat suddenly rolled over his body and he could feel the inkling of tears in the soft part of his throat.

_He should have gone back earlier._

It was a mantra that played over and over again, adding to his nausea and disregarding the soup in his lap he stood, ignoring the mess it made on the floor, and slipped into his shoes. It was night and a little chilly but it didn’t matter.

His feet carried him briskly, his heel meeting the sidewalk faster and faster until Wonshik was running. He dodged people as best as possible but he couldn't be held responsible for his actions as his peripheral vision dimmed and he narrowed in on the cemetery gates.

He slid to a halt, taking in a mouthful of air while trying to breathe in through his nose. Nostrils flaring, he willed himself to remember that smell.

It was night, the graves dark but there was no noise. No karaoke, no ambient smoke rising from the small dancehalls they had made. No children singing to music too grown for their ears. There was no joy in a place like this anymore, what little there was to be had. Now, it was just a bunch of graves filled with dead bones and near feral dogs.

For half a year he lived a few blocks away from the cemetery and not once had he come back.

Screwing his eyes shut, Wonshik stood in the cold, chest heaving. He took deep breaths through his nose, trying to find the scent until finally, he took one that forced his head up, eyes rolling towards the back of his head and he passed out. 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> There is a sequel and then a chaptered story based on these two so I promise, the story doesn't end there <3 Thank you SO much for reading! -Raven


End file.
